Of Pacifists and Murderers
by Fredrickson435
Summary: Do not cry to reality for help. For reality is a jerk. It will send help, but it will be the worst possible help it can find. After all, only a jerk would send a mass murderer to help a kid and a spirit complete the Pacifist route. Rated M for future graphic violence, discussions on the nature of death and self, foul language, and suggestive themes.
1. Shattered Hopes, Repairable Dreams

**A/N: First off, I would like to say I am a 4th year college student that is juggling final papers, projects, and job search. Do not expect scheduled updates.**

 **That being said, this is my first serious attempt at creative writing for multi-chapter fiction, so reviews and critiques are appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Undertale, its plot, nor any of its characters. I only own the rights to my own character and portions of the plot that do not stem from the game.**

* * *

 _* Chara Dreemurr speaking *_ (Pronounced as Kara)

* ** _CHARA THE DEMON_** (Pronounced Char + a)

 _Thoughts/Dreams_

"Speech/Thoughts in Dreams"

* * *

 _An exhausted but DETERMINED Frisk stands before Asriel, the God of Absolute Hyperdeath in the endless rainbow colored expanse. They have reached out to souls residing within the monster, forcing the souls to remember and save them from the despair within Asriel's soul. Yet, as the souls of their friends resonate in Asriel, Frisk feels as if there is still someone left that needs to be saved._

 _Suddenly, images begin to form in Frisk's mind. A young human child laying on the ground, apparently having fallen from a great height. A monster child…No, a concerned Asriel approaches the fallen child, as said child slowly picks themselves off the ground. The images switch to the two kids traversing the underground, with Asriel supporting the injured child on the journey. The duo eventual reach Home, where a worried Toriel spots her son and the injured human, rushing over to help them. The images shift once more, forming a photo of the royal family, with an obviously cheerful, grinning Asriel and the human child, their face hidden behind a bouquet of flowers._

'These… memories…' _Frisk thinks to themselves before being embraced from behind. Turning their head slightly, they could see the transparent figure of a young girl in a green and yellow striped shirt._ '…Chara, are these your memories…? Your memories of Asriel and you… He seems to have been such a sweet child.'

 _"_ _Huh,"_ _the multi-toned voiced of the God boomed with a note of confusion, "What are you doing …?!"_ *1

'*Please… help me save him.*' _The voice, so fragile compared to its usually steely edge, echoed in Frisk's mind._ '*Call him… call him by his name… Make him remember who he truly is… Make him remember that he is …*'

 _"_ _ASRIEL!" Frisk cries looking straight at him. The souls inside Asriel responding to the cry, resonating with positive emotions, forcing the being to clutch the orb that is his chest in confusion._

 _"_ _Wh… What did you do…? Asriel whispers, eyes closed in bewilderment. "What's this feeling…? What's happening to me?" Having spent the many years as a soulless flower, Asriel is having trouble identifying the foreign, fuzzy feeling deep in his souls._

 _His eyes snap open in a fierce glare at the child before him. "No," he snarls, "NO! I don't need ANYONE!" With this declaration, the God of Absolute Hyperdeath launches a volley of prismatic projectiles at the child, forcing Frisk to dodge haphazardly, getting clipped a couple times and reducing their health bar down to 10 HP._

 _"_ _Asriel," Frisk cries again, slowly approaching him._

 _"_ _STOP IT," the God replies with a scream, his body flinching as the foreign emotion grows larger within his soul. "Get away from me. Do you hear me?! I'll ... I'll tear you apart!" He launches another volley of prismatic bullets, by they all pass over Frisk's head._

 _Once more, Frisk calls out to Asriel, telling him that there is no need to fight anymore._

 _"…_ _,"Asriel hesitates, watching the human child stumble close to him. "…Chara," he replies in a low voice, the anger on his face draining away to a somber sadness, "Do you know why I'm doing this …? Why I'm fighting to keep you around…?"_

 _Slowly, little goblets fire beginning to drift down from above. Thinking it is another attack, Frisk is surprised to see the fire purposely drift away from them. This is at odds with Asriel's fierce glare._

 _"_ _I'm doing this… Because you're special, Chara. You're the only one that understands me. You're the only one who's any fun to play with anymore."_

 _The streams of fire get heavier, but continue to drift away from Frisk. Looking back and forth between the raining fire and Asriel's now sorrowful face, Frisk realizes that the fire really isn't an attack… their Asriel's tears. Frisk presses onwards to Asriel, fully believing that they can break through to him._

 _"…_ _No… That's not JUST it," sobs Asriel, "I… I… I'm doing this because I care about you, Chara. I care about you more than anybody else!"_

 _Fire intensifies, but Frisk is no longer concerned. They recognize a soul in need and knowing that they can help fills them with DETERMINATION and the energy to continue moving forward._

 _"_ _I'm not ready for this to end. I'm not ready for you to leave. I'm not ready to say goodbye to someone like you again…"_

'*…Trust me Azzy… Frisk is nothing like me*.' _Chara's bitter reply resounds only in the back of Frisk's mind._ 'Chara… now is NOT the time for…"

 _"_ _So, please!" Asriel's sudden outburst cuts off Frisk's internal rebuke. "STOP doing this…" He raise both hands and begins charging an attack. "AND JUST LET ME WIN!"_

 _As the last words come out of Asriel's mouth, he released his hyperbeam attack, hitting Frisk dead on. Dropping from 10 HP to 1 HP, Frisk barely remains on their feet while the rainbow colored energy whips around them. Despite the searing pain of the attack, they walk forward, moving against the blast, determined to reach Asriel. 100 feet. 90 feet._

 _"_ _STOP IT!" the pleading command directed towards the unstoppable child._

 _80 feet. 70 feet. 60 feet._

 _"_ _STOP IT NOW!"_

 _50 feet. 40 feet. At 30 feet, Frisk drops to their knees, but continues to crawl towards Asriel._

 _At 10 feet, Asriel dismisses the blast. Watching the human child still crawl towards him with what little strength they had left, being kept alive only through sheer DETERMINATION… Asriel approaches them._

 _"…_ _Chara…" Asriel whispers, watching as Frisk grabs ahold of one his large claws to pull themselves off the ground. "I'm so alone Chara… I'm so afraid…"_

 _Frisk now standing up, if a slight unsteady, tries to comfort Asriel._

 _"_ _I… I…"_

 **SLASH SLASH**

 _Asriel scream in pain and confusion as part of his hand is sawn off. Frisk falls back onto the ground, staring horror as the severed claw in his grasp slowly crumbles to dust._

 ** _"_** ** _DAMMIT,"_** _a hollow voice echoes all around the pair._ ** _"_** ** _I was AIMING for the BRAT. "_**

'No! Not now! / _No! Not now!' both Chara and Frisk scream internally._

 ** _"_** ** _Still,"_** _an evil chuckle fills the air as a figure materializes between the God and child,_ ** _"_** ** _ITS not every day I get to STRIKE the God of Absolute HYPERDEATH in his moment of weakness."_**

 _Asriel moves to strike down the new figure, but halts once the figure fully comes into view. "…Ch… Chara…?" stutters Asriel, staring at the familiar figure in bewilderment. "You're back…You… You lo...look different. Older."_

 _Dusty fingers lazily twirl a worn, bloody knife in one hand, while the other hand rests on a chin, thumb picking at one of the blackened blood streaks traveling down the face._ ** _"_** ** _I should…,"_** _the teen replies, turning to address the hesitant monster._ ** _"_** ** _After all, DYING doesn't mean I stopped AGING... stopped HATING!"_** _The green and yellow striped shirt, worn and frayed from what appears to be the result of numerous fights, compliments the tattered brown pants._

 ** _"_** ** _But, you… YOU haven't CHANGED at all since I last SAW you… Still a big CRYBABY… attempting make FRIENDS with HUMANS!"_** _Red eyes light up with malice as they gaze over the child on ground, narrowing slightly as they flicker to some unseen thing beyond the child's shoulder. Frisk shudders under the gaze, the 15 year old teen looking far more sinister than any of the monsters they met during their travels in the underground. The eyes turn to Asriel in a harsh glare._ ** _"_** ** _That's what got US into this MESS in the first place. REFUSING TO KILL HUMANS!"_**

 _"_ _B..B…But Chara," Asriel stammers, tears welling up in his eyes, while globes of fire begin to form above the trio._

 ** _*sigh*…"I can't stay MAD at you Azzy,"_** _the harsh tone being replaced with a misplaced cheeriness. The fire globes wink out as Asriel calms down._ _ **"**_ ** _After all, it has been a few CENTURIES since we could actually talk with each other… COME here and give your BROTHER a hug."_**

 _The bloodied teen extends both arms in invitation, mouth breaking into a grin. Asriel hesitantly approaches, a weak smile forming on his face, before quickly shifting into a puzzled frown. "…Brother? … But aren't you a girl?" The teen's smile cracks._

 ** _"…_** ** _shit… "_**

 ** _SLASH SLASH_**

 _Asriel stumbles back, roaring in pain as the knife slashes somehow bypass his defence._

 ** _"_** ** _A girl?! A GIRL!"_** _the teen begins ranting, visibly upset_ ** _"_** ** _OF COURSE IT WOULD BE A GIRL. They are the ones more likely to STICK with a PACIFIST ROUTE. Sure the ones that go GENOCIDE, are some of the most vicious, but they are also able to FEEL more easily, "He_** _turns to face Frisk, who is struggling to open up the SAVE menu to reach the RESET button._ ** _"_** ** _Able to feel GUILT, and REMORSE, and love. Guiding their fallen child to a peaceful ending. Or stopping GENOCIDE before the LOVE is too much to control. And RESETING to avoid the lovely consequences."_** _The teen stands over Frisk, knife raised to strike._

 ** _"_** ** _Well, not THIS time. I will be TAKING your SOULS and make sure this UNIVERSE goes GENOCIDE."_**

 _Frisk, too weak to reach the RESET button, can only scream as the knife comes down._

* * *

Sheets fly off the bed as Frisk sits up, still screaming from the nightmare. The scream tapers off to a whimper as Frisk looks about the room. The familiar furniture to their right, stuffed dolls on the side of the bed, and a slice of pie on the floor reminds them where they currently are.

' _Home… I'm at Home…'_

Across the room, the door slams open as dull orange light fills the room.

"My child!? Are you ok?"

In the doorway is one of the most relieving sights Frisk has seen since falling down into the Underground. Wearing a simple nightgown and wielding magical flames in hand, Toriel stands ready to strike down anything that might be scaring the poor child. Seeing no immediate threat in the room, Toriel dismisses the fire and approaches the trembling child, sitting down on the bed to hug them.

Frisk can feel the motherly presence exuding from Toriel chasing away the last dregs of the nightmare. They tell Toriel that they are alright, just had a nightmare.

"Must have been a terrible one, child," Toriel replies, her voice soft and soothing. "Do you wish to tell me what it was about?"

The image of a flashing knife dances across Frisk's mind, sending a shiver of fear down their spine. They shake their head no, telling Toriel the nightmare wasn't about anything important.

"Are you sure dear?" Toriel's voice now tinged with concern. "Your screams said otherwise. I feared you were being attacked with how frightened you sounded."

Frisk relents a little and mentions the nightmare had to do with events that happened earlier in the day.

"Earlier today… Of course! That _flower_ ," Toriel's voice growing sharp, "Attacking you with no provocation. If I see that talking weed again, I may end up making an exception to my do not fight rule." Calming down slightly, she continues to comfort Frisk. "I'm so sorry I did not find you earlier, my sweet child."

They tell Toriel that it's ok, silently worrying that they may have convinced _Mom_ to kill her son by accident. After a few more minutes of hugs and comforting words, Frisk finally convinces Toriel that they will be ok for the rest of the night and to head back to her room. Giving once last glance back at Frisk, Toriel slowly closes the door.

As the sound of footsteps move into the next door room, Frisk lets out a small sigh of relief, glad to not have to actually tell Mom about the nightmare.

 _"_ _*I am bit jealous of you right now"_ a sullen voice whispers next Frisk's ear, causing the poor kid to release a startled gasp. A light giggle could be heard as a second person slowly faded into view.

 _"_ Chara!" Frisk angrily hisses to the girl currently floating right by their head, a partial red heart in her chest. "How many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me?"

 _"_ _*157 times now,"_ replied the red-eyed child. _"_ _*And it is still as funny as the last 156 times. Besides, these harmless scares are how I calm myself down. You weren't the only one reliving those last few minutes of our previous loop."_

"…oh…"

 _"_ _*Yeah, oh."_ She lets out a small sigh before floating down to 'sit' on the bed beside Frisk. _"And unlike you, I do not have the luxury of Mom hugging the memories away."_ As if to emphasize the point she lays back and lets her head go right through the pillow.

Frisk attempts to comfort her, but falters when Chara tries hugging herself like a scared child would, knowing full well that she can't feel her own ghostly body. The two of them lay there in silence, one watching the other, helpless to ease her pain... To ease anyone's pain. The silence is broken by muffled sobs.

 _"_ _*Frisk,"_ Chara asks tiredly, raising their head out of the pillow to look at the crying child, _"*Why are you crying now? You're starting to turn into a bigger crybaby than Asriel."_

"…I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" Frisk whispers trying to stop the tears. "It's…I don't think I can do this anymore."

 _"_ _*What?*"Chara asks, sitting up in alarm at the defeatist tone coming out of the child._

"I don't want go through with this journey again Chara. Not when all our hard work is meaningless, all our friends and family are going to be killed. That creature… he's forced us to reset so many times, killing our friends over and over. I thought we moved too fast for him to act last time, but he was waiting for us at the end… if you hadn't pressed the reset button before that knife came down…" The tears began to fall again.

A ghostly hand passes through Frisk's head, startling them as Chara finishes her attempted slap.

 _"_ _* Enough with the tears, Frisk. You know I don't handle tears well.*"_ Chara says, a little put out she has to deal with her friend going through an emotional breakdown. _"*Look, I think you are handling this problem the wrong way. You should not be feeling sad, but rather anger. Anger at that doppelganger messing with our plans. I know I'm angry.*"_

*sniff* "But… you're always angry Chara."

 _"_ _*Well, yes… but I am especially angry at him. He claims to be me but he goes about killing our Mom and then purposely hurt my brother Asriel. He deserves my anger and, if I still had a physical body, a knife to the face.*"_

The macabre image of Chara stabbing her male counterpart actually forced a chuckle out of Frisk from their sheer strangeness of the scene.

 _"_ _* Ah! I got you to laugh.*" Chara says with a small grin, one of her non-creepy grins. "*Feeling better?*"_

"…A little," Frisk whispers, before sighing, "I still think our situation is hopeless."

 _"_ _* That hasn't stopped you before,*"_ Chara reminds them. _"*We've been at this for what… a little over 50 loops?"_

"54, I think."

 _"_ _* Right, 54. And only once have we given up… and that was probably the best decision to make at the time. So what if we have homicidal maniac running around. You still have control over the timelines, and that means nothing he does will be permanent. But that's only as long as you…*"_

"…Stay DETERMINED," Frisk finishes for her. "Yeah, DETERMINED… Well, if I'm going to stay DETERMINED, then I should probably go back to sleep. We have to fight, Mom, tomorrow. Goodnight Chara." Frisk mumbles as exhaustion finally begins to claim them.

 _"_ _*Goodnight Frisk*"_ Chara whispers, slowly fading out of view as she too succumbs to the siren call of slumber.

* * *

Both the kid and the ghost now sleep, worries of the future cast aside for the night. Tomorrow will contain a surprise for them and the Underground, as something new will be introduced.

For reality has taken notice. And that is never a good thing. For reality is a dick and does not like having to take notice of universes with problems. When does take notice, it will usually send help, but it will be the worst possible help it can find.


	2. Two Crappy Mornings

**Well, it's been nearly a year since I posted anything. Sorry about that.**

 **This chapter was a pain to write and real-life didn't help much. Between finishing college and job searching, I didn't get started with this chapter until the end of Summer... then my biggest problem showed up.**

 **I tended to a be perfectionist when I try to write, which means, I do a lot of self-editing as I write. This has caused me to re-think and rewrite the chapter five times before I was satisfied with the direction I was going. That was in November when I had only at a thousand words for this chapter. Now combine a mixture of self-doubt, writer's block, constant editing, and the lack of proper fictional writing experience, and you get 7000+ words after two months of on and off writing. I know know that it takes me about 6 hours to write 2500 words that I am satisfied with, and that's with using source material.**

 **Anyway... Here is chapter 1. It's not perfect, I'm not completely happy with it, and it may feel clunky in some parts. But I figured I owed myself and anyone that has read the first blurb of this story a new chapter before the end of the year.**

 **Please, if you have any feedback for this story, leave a review. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.**

* * *

Blue eyes fly open as sheets are violently flung onto the floor. The silhouette of a man sits hunched over the bed; sweaty hands grip the bed liner, chest heaving from labored breathing. Turning his head to the left, empty air greets him from the rest of the bed. Groaning as his mind trudges out of the fog of sleep, he runs a hand down his face before he abruptly tears it away, staring at it in disgust. A trickle of light tears his attention from his hand to the closed shutters across the room.

With a sigh and a heave, his legs swing to the side of the bed and stand up. With five strides he closes the distance to the window. He undoes the latch to the shutters and pushes them out, letting the light and chill of an autumn dawn enter the room. A large, sparse room is freed from the darkness, revealing a ragged, large bed and accompanying nightstand, a singular wardrobe of oak, and large writing desk, chair included. On the nightstand lays some overturned photos and silver-sapphire wedding band. Discolored patches from missing furnishings and smoke damage litter the walls, giving the room a sad and sickly atmosphere.

The room isn't the only one looking a bit sick. The room's sole occupant is a thin man, a thinness resulting from stress and rationing rather than a proper diet. His wild, brown hair and short beard are a complete mess, matching perfectly with the shallow cheeks and deep bugs under his closed eyes. Loose, pale skin hangs off his average-sized frame, looking more like old parchment in the morning light. Old parchment with ink blots.

A number of dark purples, almost black, lesions trail up his arms and down his back, like ugly bruises that refuse to dissipate. Mixed-in with the lesions a couple burn scars. His hands, tightly gripping the window sill, are far worse. Appearing to be a terrible case of gangrene, the flesh is blackish in color from wrist to fingertips and clings tightly to the bones. Yet they move without skin cracking or muscles seizing. They emit no foul odor nor cause any physical pain. The discoloration appears to be only a visible sign of illness.

Finally, the man's eyes adjust to the light, letting him gaze out the window. Situated on a hill, the house overlooks the remains of a large city. Spread across a dozen hills and valleys are piles of rubble and burnt-out shells of buildings bathed in the red light of dawn. The silhouettes of scavengers can be seen in picking through the more intact ruins. Most of the early morning activity, though, was coming from a section of mostly intact buildings located at the base of some mountains further back in the city. Heavy wagons carrying reconstruction crews and … doctors slow trundle out of the partially intact market district; reconstruction crews heading towards the more destroyed parts of town for building materials while the wagons with the doctors were moving to other partially intact districts currently being used for quarantine.

"Well, the burners are out early today," the man whispers in low, dry voice, eyes locked on a wagon approaching the checkpoint further up the street. A flicker of black catches his eyes, a man in dark cloak exiting one of the houses, a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder and a ring of keys on his belt. He makes his way to the house across the street, cycling the keys on the ring and reading through some notes. Mid-way through the streets, the cloaked man turns his head towards the checkpoint, noticing the waiting wagon. He yells something at the wagon and waves his hand dismissively before moving on towards the next house, the wagon team and occupants similarly moving on towards the next neighborhood.

"…They got old Harold working as a burner now? Didn't even know he returned," muses the man, moving away from the window. "Well, at least he's tolerable to be around. Better get started with washing myself. I'd rather not have him treat me mid-cleaning."

He enters a small room off the larger one, grabbing a towel off the door handle and bucket off the floor. He stares at the missing section of the bathroom for a moment, the morning breeze rushing in. With a sigh he walks out, the kitchen and its working sink his destination, all the while wishing a shower stall was the only thing ripped from his life.

* * *

With the click of a lamp, red eyes slowly crack open. Having her sleep interrupted by the sudden change in light levels, Chara fades back into view, laying on the bed. Rubbing her eyes to remove phantom crumbs, she sits up on the bed, releasing a silent yawn.

 _"_ _*Frisk,*"_ she mumbles, looking for the child. She finds them across the room facing away and pulling on their purple-blue striped shirt. _"*Frisk.*"_ she says a little louder, catching the child's attention. As they turn around, she notices their dark, brown hair appears to be damp and their cheeks bit rosy.

"Oh… Chara," Frisk murmurs. "Did I wake you up?"

 _"_ _*Yes, but it's ok*,"_ says Chara, getting off the bed floating over to Frisk. Glancing over at door, making sure it's closed, she notices something is off. _"*No pie slice?*"_

"Already picked it up."

 _"_ _*Oh. How long have you been up?*"_

"Long enough to wash-up and eat breakfast," Frisk answers quietly, tying on their shoes. Looking up at their ghostly companion they continue, "I thought you'd probably want to sleep in after… everything that happened and I needed time to think by myself." Frisk pauses for a moment, collecting their thoughts.

"I'm worried Chara, worried about what to do once we leave. We're going have to meet Sans again and I don't think he will want to talk nicely with us this time. Especially if you mock him."

 _"_ _*Like he's ever had a decent chat with us,*"_ Chara scoffs. _"*That bag of lazy bones has had it out for us ever since we kicked his ass.*"_

"That's exactly what I'm talking about Chara. Don't bring up past mistakes. It's going to be hard enough trying to get his help as it is," Frisk says with a little heat in their voice. They take a moment to calm down, then lets out a small sigh. "Then there's the issue with Flowey."

 _"_ _*… I don't want to talk about that.*"_ Chara states, turning away.

"We need to Chara. He wasn't acting ri.."

 _"_ _*No. No, we don't*"_ Chara growls. _"*Yesterday was an accident. He was probably still scared of how things ended.*"_

"Scared enough to lash out?! Chara, he hasn't tried that since the first loop. Something's wrong-"

"*There's nothing wrong-*"

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"Child? Are you alright? Who's in there with you?" the concerned voice of Toriel call through the door, the door handle jiggling as she opens the door.

Chara flickers out of sight, remembering what happened the last time she revealed her ghostly existence to her adoptive mother.

 _'_ _*…We can argue about Asriel/Flowey later,*'_ Chara's voice echo's in Frisk's mind as Toriel enters the room. _'*Let's just focus on dealing with Mom.*'_

"Oh, I'm sorry for intruding dear," Toriel apologizes, seeing nothing amiss in her children's old room. "I thought I heard… No, I must be hearing things." She mutters that last part under her breathe.

"Anyway, are you ready to start the day young one?" she asks, holding out her hand. Frisk nods an affirmative, grabbing Toriel's hand.

"So, um," Toriel begins as she leads Frisk to the living room. "I want you to know how glad I am to have someone here. There are so many old books I want to share. I want to show you my favorite bug-hunting spot."

Reaching the living room, Toriel moves to her reading chair, picking up a book resting on the seat before sitting down herself.

"I've also prepared a curriculum for your education," she continues, as Frisk sits on the floor in front of her. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I have always wanted to be a teacher." She pauses for a moment. "Hm, actually, perhaps that isn't very surprising. Still, I am glad to have you living here. So before we begin, is there anything you wanted to do?"

Frisk hesitates in asking the fatal question, memories of another, happier time flashing in their mind.

 _'_ _*Frisk, no. We both know how this will end if you try to stay.*'_ Chara reminds them, as the memories suddenly go from happy to… red.

"Actually," starts Frisk in a timid tone, "I was wondering… When can I go home?"

"What?" Toriel says, a little shocked at the request. "This… this IS your home now." Panicking internal Toriel tries to think of some way to deflect the child's attention away from leaving the safety of Home.

"Um..." glancing down at the book in her lap she, "would you like to hear about this book I am reading? It is called "72 Uses for Snails." How about it?"

'Snail fact number one: Snails make terrible shoelaces.' Frisk says in their mind, getting a chuckle out of Chara.

"Maybe later," Frisk responds quietly. "But I would really like to know how to exit the RUINS. If only to explore the outside."

"Oh…" Toriel says quietly, realizing she would need to take drastic measures immediately. "… I have to do something. Please stay here…I'll be back shortly."

With that Toriel gets up and walks out the living room, down the hall.

 _'_ _*Let's give her thirty seconds, then we follow*'_ Chara suggests to Frisk.

"Sure," Frisk replies, mentally preparing themselves for the upcoming confrontation.

* * *

The sound of splashing water echoes out the doorway of a dimly lit kitchen. A man, standing in a small wooden tub full of water and soap suds, sets down a bucket on a nearby countertop. He grabs a small cloth and wipes some water off his face, letting himself stare off into nothing, mind running on auto-pilot. He starts humming a meaningless tune as he uses the cloth to wipe off excess water.

A loud series of knocks ring out through the building, interrupting the man's drying process.

"JEAN! JEAN!" a deep, muffled voice shouts. "YOU BETTER BE UP AND STILL IN THE HOUSE JEAN!"

"He got here a lot faster than I thought," the man, Jean, mutters with a snort. Stepping out of the tub, he grabs a large towel to wrap around his waist before heading to the front door. Before stepping into the foyer, Jean remembers something. Turning around, he quickly scans the kitchen for specific articles of clothing, finding pair resting by the rest of the clothes he brought down. He hurries over and snatches up the pair of long leather gloves.

He heads back to the door, which is now taking a serious beating, tugging the gloves on. As he turns the lock, more muffled shouting comes through the door.

"JEAN! I'M SERIOUS! IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR-" It was at this moment Jean pulled the door open, stepping to the side as a large man stumbles in. "…Oh."

"Morning Harold," Jean says nonchalantly to the black-robed man. "I'm a bit surprised you came back to this city."

Harold grunts in protest, adjusting his robes and a large bag. "Surprising?" he replies back in a gruff tone. "It shouldn't be. Why wouldn't I want to visit one of my favorite cities?"

"Oh, I don't," Jean begins, as he shuts the door "Maybe the destruction? The mass graves? The dwindling food supplies?" He turns around and leans against the door. "Or maybe the rampant paranoia? The dead magic zones?" His voice rises which each word. "Or perhaps the best damn reason, this insidious plague," he gestures to the lesions along his arms, "which would just love to jump into a powerful mage like you; drain your dry of magic, emotions, and souls until you either fall into a coma, pass on, or change into one of those damned MONSTERS!" He finishes with his voice at a full shout.

A few seconds pass by with nothing but the sounds of panting in the air between the two.

Then Harold starts chuckling. "Heh, heh, heh… well, it seems you still have your anger." He explains after receiving a glare from Jean. "How long have you been holding that in?"

Jean glares at him for a moment longer before releasing a sigh and relaxing his body. "Eight months, two days, and thirteen hours, give or take a couple minutes," he answers in a toneless voice, his body shudders in relief. "Oh, it felt good to finally vent all that frustration and feel something other than apathy or disgust. But in all seriousness, what are you doing here Harold? This should be the last place in our little slice of Purgatory that you'd want to be. And why do you have a burner's bag?"

"It was the only way the city council would allow me into the quarantine zones," replies Harold as he sets down the canvas bag and begins rummaging through his robes. "As to why I'm here, well part of it is just me playing the part of the courier. Had some reports from the other territories that needed to be delivered to the city council. I would have saved you a copy, but since you are no longer part of the council… Anyway, I do happen to have some mail for you."

Jean perks up as Harold pulls out wrapped package and a thick envelope. "From your daughter and her husband. They worry about Jean, we all do. And that's the other reason I'm here Jean. I'm not going to leave an old friend to suffer alone."

Jean cautiously takes the package and envelope from Harold staring at him with his best attempt at… thankfulness. So his face was a little less blank.

Harold reaches down to pick up the bag. "You can read the letter after I treat you. And that package should be placed in one of those cold boxes you have; I think it's full of dried meats." Harold pause, finally taking a full look at the man before him. "Which you should really eat… you've lost a lot of weight."

"Heh," Jean snorts as he leads his friend to the kitchen, figuring it would be the best place to get this treatment over. "I wasn't kidding about dwindling food supplies. I'll tell you about it as you set up."

* * *

The stairs softly creak under Frisk's footsteps as they descend into the dim hallway beneath the building. The royal purple walls and floor are a bitter sight, a reminder that once they leave, Frisk will not be seeing or hearing from Toriel until the barrier… hopefully. And speaking of Toriel, she's standing in the same spot as in all the previous loops, fifty feet from the stairs.

Waiting. Waiting as if she know they were going to follow her down here. Frisk never did understand why she would wait for them each loop. Why she would hesitate from destroying the exit if she truly didn't want them to leave. Maybe it was some bizarre way of letting them have a choice on whether or not to stay. Maybe she wanted to give a final lesson on the dangers of the underground.

 _'_ _*Or maybe we live in a game and this is a scripted event. *'_ Chara whispers sarcastically within Frisk's mind. _'* You're stalling Frisk. Just walk up to mom and let her do all the… talking.*'_

With a small huff at their invisible partner, Frisk steps off the stairs and proceeds towards Toriel. Once they are a couple steps behind the monster, she begins to speak and walk.

"So, you wish to know how to return 'Home', do you not?" her voice low and somber, barely audible above her footsteps. "Ahead of us lies the end of the RUINS. An exit to the rest of the underground."

She stops speaking for a moment, allowing memories to wash over her mind. Clenching her hands into fists, she resumes speaking; her tone still somber but with an added firmness.

"I am going to destroy it. No one will ever be able to leave again." She then glances over her shoulder at the child following her. "Now be a good child and go upstairs." Frisk of course, just shakes their head and continues following Toriel.

Seeing that the child was not listening to her request, Toriel continues speaking, hoping to scare the child into compliance.

"Every human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again." She closes her eyes as more memories flash in her mind

"They come."

A faded ribbon lying next to a small form.

A very manly bandana wrapped around the head of a large child.

"They leave."

A young lady wearing a beautiful tutu and ballet shoes.

The quiet child with the pencil and notebook.

"They die."

The young man that always helped in the kitchen, getting his apron dirty.

The young boy that wanted to be a cowboy when he grew up.

"You naïve child…" she says, her voice going flat. "If you leave the RUINS, they… ASGORE… will KILL you. I am only protecting you, do you understand? Please… go to your room."

Once again Frisk shakes their head no and continues to follow Toriel.

As they round the corner leading to the doorway, Toriel begins to speak once more.

"Do not try to stop me. This is your final warning."

Undeterred, Frisk follows Toriel up to the doorway, where she stops and confronts them.

"You want to leave so badly?" she asks, disappointed at the child in front of her. "Hmph. You are just like the others. There is only one solution to this."

Slowly fireballs form in her hands.

"Prove yourself… Prove to me that you are strong enough to survive."

And with those words, Frisk feels a familiar tug in their chest as a red heart-shaped icon appears.

As in battles before, the ambient magic in environment reacts to the active magic being put out by monsters, in this case, Toriel. As ambient magic cannot remain stable for long in the presence of active magic, it either flees the area or searches for a substance to latch onto to increase stability, like DETERMINATION within a human. Now, unlike the condensed magic that makeup monsters, ambient magic is diffuse enough that latching on DETERMINATION will not cause a runaway chain reaction that results in melting the person. Instead, it acts as a supercharger to the person's nervous system and metaphysical body, a.k.a. the soul.

Now this state does leave a very visible target for monsters to aim their magic at, but it also provides humans with a way to defend themselves. The supercharged nervous system allows for far faster reaction times, meaning improved dodging skills. In addition, this supercharged state also allows the mind to think faster, seemingly slowing down the world around the person. While in this mental state, a human is unable to take advantage of their new reflexes until they choose an action. Thankfully the mental state allows them to create complex mental constructs to make rapid, informed decisions. In Frisk's case, the construct is a black text box with a series of four buttons leading to different menus or actions underneath.

Pointing out the obvious, the text box declares: ***Toriel blocks the way!***

 _'_ _*Yeah, yeah Toriel blocks the way,*'_ Chara shouts back at the box. _'*She blocks the way every time we come down here. Can't you say something different?*'_

Ignoring their companion's commentary, Frisk quickly moves the mental icon over to the mercy button and select the SPARE option, deciding to get on with the fight. Time seems to speed up again as Toriel launches her first attack, slashing her hand out as a wave fireballs go careening towards the child. Frisk dives under the attack and rolls back up onto their feet, brushing the dirt off their sleeves. They look back at Toriel and refuse to attack.

Once again their perception of time slows down and the text box appears in their mind.

 ***Toriel appears to be resigned***

 _'_ _*Huh, that's new.*'_

 ***Well, you asked for something new.*** the text box puts out underneath the Toriel description, as Frisk goes to select SPARE again.

 _'_ _*Wait?! What? You actually listen to us?*'_ Chara squeaks out in shock. _'*Frisk! The box actually-*'_

'Little busy,' Frisk shouts back in their mind as they weave between two streams of embers. Once again as the attack finishes, Frisk refuses to strike Toriel.

 ***Toriel is waiting for you to attack*** the text box prints out.

'Not going to happen.' Frisk thinks, once again selecting SPARE. Another wave of fireballs flies from Toriel's hands, forcing Frisk to move back to the edge of the small room.

"I'm not going to fight you," Frisk declares, refusing to strike back at the motherly monster.

The text box reappears in their mind's eye, printing out:

 ***Toriel is getting a little frustrated with you***

Frisk ignores the commentary in favor of choosing SPARE. This time they are dodging a rain of ember from above, while Toriel tries to look away from them.

"Child, what are you doing?" Toriel demands softly. Frisk remains quiet as they concentrate on the falling embers. Eventually, the embers diminish and Frisk takes a quick breather before folding their arms across their chest. The child adamant refusal to attack back seems to strike some painful chord within Toriel.

"ATTACK or RUN AWAY!" she yells, lashing out with a large fireball. It is unfortunate that as the fireball approaches Frisk, they are forced into the heightened mental state.

Thus, this time the text box prints out something very new:

 ***Magical Fireball… looks like this is going to hurt!***

 _'_ _*Um, Frisk,*'_ Chara begins to say, concern clear in her voice as the fireball slowly inches towards the child.

'I can dodge it… maybe.' Frisk says shakily, quickly choosing SPARE. As their perception of time resumed its normal rate, Frisk pushes off the wall behind them, trying to maneuver left around the attack. This, fortunately, moved most of their body out of the line of fire… but most does not mean all.

As they move forward and left, the fireball makes contact with their right arm, sending heat and pain up the limb.

As they feel their nerves sing in pain, Frisk opens their mouth to cry out, "AHHH…"

* * *

"…HHHRG," Jean's raspy voice finishes its screech of pain. A few heavy breathes fill the air before he tries to talk between pants, "How… many… more… to go?"

"Two more spots on your lower back, Jean," Harold replies, as he rubs aloe cream on the latest treated spot. "…Do you want to take a break? I know this treatment is hard on you."

"This treatment is hard for everyone. I doubt anyone really enjoys having open flames cook their flesh," Jean replies back, giving a little snort. He shifts his body on the stone tabletop, iron chains clinking as he adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. "Though I will admit, the after-effects aren't nearly as bad as previous treatments."

"That's because I'm using a different fuel," Harold says off-handedly as he continues to rub in the cream. Jean turns his head to look questioningly at his friend. "I… acquired a small shipment of oil from those winged fellows from the east. A couple of their ships docked at the southern ports."

"Well, that's surprising," Jean quickly interrupts his friend. "Most of the other nations are still avoiding us. Even our allies ..." Jean trails off.

"Yeah, yeah. So this oil," Harold continues, "It supposedly produces a flame similar to the ones located in the lower halves of Purgatory. The winged ones apparently use it for soul cleansing rituals. Supposedly was also used during the war to treat their troops… to some success. So I figured there must be some special property to it, and there is." Catching the worried look in his friend's eye, he rapidly continued, "Definitely not a magical one. Or rather, not what you or I would define as magic. Has more of a… divine, retributive aura to it rather than something out of simple soul collective like you or I. Plus I already tested it on some corrupted wildlife I came across while journeying here. No terrible side-effects."

"So relax. I'm not creating any miasma clouds with magical fire. Nor am I giving you the normal second or third degree burns regular oil does. In fact, it looks more like a sunburn. Now," Harold moves the jar of aloe cream aside and starts fiddling with a two prong device. "I guess we should stop stalling and finish up your back. Oh, and to your earlier statement, you are wrong. We both know one person who loves being wrapped in flames."

Jena rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Old man Johnson does not count. He and his flaming inferno of an aspect aren't even close to normal."

"And this coming from the person who named his aspects Id, Sanity, and Guilt?" Harold fires back while he refills the fuel tank to the medical torch. He pauses mid-pour as a sudden thought occurs. "Um… are you still able to communicate with them?"

Jean lets out a sigh. "No. Guilt disappeared eight months ago after… the fight. Id disappeared five months after that. And last month I lost all ability to talk with Sanity." Jean pauses for a moment. "As of three days ago, I missed the date for the coma route. So at this point… all I can do is have the "burners" slow the corruption down and hope it becomes terminal."

"Jean-"

"Save it, Harold," Jean cuts off his friend. "Once an aspect is unreachable, that means the corruption has reached a critical mass within the soul. At this point, the only routes left are coma, death, or transformation and we all better hope I don't transform. So get on with treatment… I want to read my daughter's letter."

"…Right," Harold says softly, screwing the cap closed on the tank. The medical torch is a fairly simple device. It consists of a fuel tank, a feeder hose, and the torch proper. The torch proper looks similar to a devil's pitchfork scaled down to about a foot in length with the middle prong replaced with a primitive blow-torch. A barbaric device, but an appropriate one considering the treatment.

The treatment is a simple but hazardous 2-step process for both patient and practitioner. The first step requires drawing out the corruption from the afflicted area. This is relatively easy as the corruption seeks magic, using it a fuel source to grow and spread. This also meant most of the victims had to be quarantined in areas devoid of ambient magic too. So when doctors come to treat the victims, they must either bring along an external magic source, usually a separate device with limited charges, or have the ability to cast from an internal source, thus leaving them far more exposed to infection. Harold prefers the second option.

Muttering a couple words, Harold cups his left hand as a ball of white light forms in it. Gripping it, he slowly moves it towards one of the remaining lesions, keeping watch for any sudden movements. Six inches from the lesion, he notices a small ripple under the affected flesh. He moves the ball of light an inch closer, before hastily pulling back as a dark tendril shoots from the center of the lesion. As the tendril grows, the lesion shrinks, being drawn up into the tendril and towards the light. Once the tendril reaches about eighteen inches in length and three inches in thickness, it stops growing and strains itself trying to reach the source of magical energy it knows to be nearby.

It's at this point that Harold initiates step two of treatment: jamming the torch mid-way down the tendril and lighting the sucker on fire as if it was pitch-soaked fleece. Immediately the tendril tries to retract, but prongs meet flesh as the torch keeps more than half of the tendril above the patient's skin. Straining a bit, Harold tries to pull more of the tendril out, knowing that the more the tendril burns outside of the patient's skin, the less painful it will be. Alas, he could only pull so far before the fire ate past the lower prong. Now freed of the device, the lower portion of the tendril fully retracted into the patient, dragging the fire with it to burn beneath his flesh.

And feeling the flames lick beneath his skin, Jean cannot help but scream again. "aaAAHHH..."

* * *

"...HHHhhh," Frisk's scream echoes in the small chamber. Ruined right arm cradled against their stomach, Frisk clutches their left leg, badly singed after taking another indirect hit from a large fireball.

 _'_ _* I didn't think Mom had it in her to be this violent,*'_ Chara whispers in awe.

The small chamber is littered with scorch marks and rubble from Toriel's unusually violent attacks. The once pristine, royal purple walls are pock-marked with little craters and spider web cracks.

Frisk isn't looking much better. Their clothes are stained with soot and smell of smoke. They are very thankful they've built up a high pain tolerance as their right arm is suffering third and fourth degree burns, with the sleeve of their shirt either burnt away or melted against flesh. Their left leg, suffering second-degree burns can barely support their weight. They haven't fared this badly against Toriel since the very first time they fought her.

 _'_ _*... maybe we should load and try fighting Mom,*'_ suggests Chara, earning her a mental glare from Frisk. _'* What? I only suggested we fight her, not kill her… I swear I'm not back-sliding.*'_

Frisk decides to ignore their ghostly companion's advice. Wincing in pain at the heat blisters forming on the right side of their face, they look up at Toriel as the magic in the air sends their mind into overdrive, bring back the textbox and menu buttons.

 ***Toriel is trying to hold back tears*** the textbox printouts.

And it is right. The Toriel before them is not the aloof, resolute gatekeeper from the beginning of the battle. Her face has shifted from a neutral look to concern and desperation as the injuries built upon the child in front of her. The child that refuses to fight or run away, only choosing to spare her. A weak flame glows in her trembling hands, flickering in and out of existence as her resolve wavers.

 _'…_ _Just a little more,'_ Frisk tells themselves, calling on their DETERMINATION to sustain them. _'I just need to hold on a little more.'_ Once again they move over to the MERCY option and select SPARE. As they push the button, the flow of time resumes its natural pace.

"Child, what are you proving this way?" Toriel begins, trying to reason with Frisk, not wanting to hurt them anymore. "I'm not going to let you run out this door to your death unless I know you can survive. Either fight me and prove your strength or leave! There's no other option!" She emphasizes her point with a weak stream of embers from her hand.

Frisk moves to dodge the attack, but as they shift their weight, their left leg gives out, causing them to sprawl onto the ground. Thankfully this takes them out of the path of the Toriel's attack. They try to pick themselves off the ground, but only succeeds in lifting their head and chest up.

 _'_ _*Frisk! This too much,*'_ Chara says, struggling not to fade into view in her concern for her friend. _'*… We need to flee.*'_

 _'_ _Flee?! No, I'm not choosing that.'_ Frisk shoots back, as the menu buttons and textbox reappear.

 _'_ _*You're on the ground. On the ground because of Mom,*'_ Chara said. _'*The only monsters that have been able to bring you to the ground in the last 30 loops were Undyne, Dad, and Asri-… Flowey when he's taken the souls. Something's changed here. You need to flee and heal up.*'_

 _'_ _You're right, something has changed,'_ Frisk mumbles in their mind. _'And that's precisely why I can't run. With the way Mom is acting, I'm afraid she'll actually destroy the entrance if I do run. If that happens, we will lose an entire day that we don't have! ...I forgot to save this morning… we'd have to load back to yesterday before we got to Home.'_

 _'_ _So,'_ Frisk thinks, as they take a mental deep breath. _'We are just going to have to trust that Mom isn't willing to take it all the way.'_ With that statement, they choose SPARE one more time.

.

.

.

Toriel trembles. The fire in her hands flicker.

Before her lays the child she swore that she would protect. Laying on the ground brunt and broken by **_HER_** actions. The child that despite the injuries still stares at her, not with anger or hate, but with trust and love.

Toriel trembles, not in anger, but in grief and fear for the child. The fire in her hands fade.

"Stop it," she whispers. "Stop looking at me that way."

Frisk just continues to stare at her while they struggle to get up.

"Why are you making this so difficult?" Toriel pleads, tears welling up in her eyes. "I know you want to go home, but… But please… Stop struggling, stop sparing me. Just tell me you want to go back upstairs... I don't want to hurt you anymore."

By this point, Frisk has succeeded in getting into a kneeling position.

"I know we do not have much, but we can have a good life," Toriel continues, her voice now thick with unshed tears. "I promise that I will take good… care… Ha… Ha… *sniff* who am I kidding… *sniff*." At this point, she can no longer hold back the tears. With a sob she rushes to the kneeling child, enveloping them in a hug.

"I'm sorry child… I'm so sorry." Toriel apologies between sobs. Frisk leans into the hug, tears starting to leak from their eyes. A warmth envelopes them as Toriel's magic, react to her subconscious desires, begins to heal the worst of the inflicted damage.

After few more minutes of crying, healing, and apologizing Toriel lets out a mocking laugh.

"Ha… Ha… Ha…, Pathetic, is it not? I dreamt that you left the ruins and died, like all the others," she begins. "I couldn't save any of the other children, and when I try my hardest this time… I nearly killed you… How can you look at me without hate for what I have done, child?"

"…Because I love you, Mom," Frisk answers softly, earning a little gasp from Toriel. "I love you and I trust that you were only trying to protect me… though probably not in the best way."

 _'_ _* That's an understatement,*'_ Chara mutters in Frisk's mind.

Shaking their head at Chara silent commentary, Frisk continues, "You taught me how to turn enemies into friends. I trusted in you and your lessons and look, we're no longer fighting… I understand you think the world beyond the door is too much for me. But, this is where you have to trust that I can handle it, that your lesson has meaning beyond these RUINS. This is when I hope you hold the same amount of trust in me that I hold in you."

 _'_ _*Wow… I think that's the most I've heard you say in one go.*'_

 _'…_ _I've been feeling a bit more talkative lately.'_

"…You're right, my child," Toriel says. "You have already proven to be a remarkable child, befriending most of the monsters in the RUINS. And I understand that you wouldn't be happy trapped only in this small area… I should not have let my expectations… my loneliness… my fear… get the best of me. So I will trust you, my child, and put them aside… I accept your SPAREING… Will you accept mine?"

"Yes," Frisk says, officially signaling the end of the battle to the surrounding magic.

The magic that had been clinging to the DETERMINATION within Frisk begins to disperse back into the environment. As with all previous battles, this causes a side-effect where Frisk's body and clothes return to the state they were in prior to the fighting.

 _'_ _*… ten years and fifty plus loops with you and I'm still not used to that.*'_ Chara mumbles.

Toriel lets go of Frisk and stands up, taking the child's rejuvenated appearance as the result of her healing magic. She starts to smile at the healthy appearance of the child but then remembers the door behind her.

"…If you truly are leaving the ruins, I will not stop you. However," Toriel pauses, carefully choosing her words. "When you do leave… please don't try to come back… at least not for a little while. I'm not sure if I can gather enough courage to let you leave again if you come back too quickly."

She kneels once more to hug Frisk, this time as a goodbye. "Do stay safe out there, my child," she whispers, "And whatever you do… don't let ASGORE get your soul… be good, my child."

Toriel let's go and proceeds back down the hallway, taking one last look at Frisk before heading Home.

Frisk stares at the retreating form of their mother, feeling tears coming to their eyes again.

 _"_ _*Frisk, you sure you aren't a crybaby?*"_ Chara asks teasingly, as she fades into view. _"* There's no need for tears. We'll see her again in no time, right?*"_

"…Right." Frisk answers softly, taking a deep breath to calm themselves. They turn around and approach the door. "Ok, let's go."

 _"_ _* Sure,*"_ Chara says as she follows Frisk through the doorway. She continues speaking, voice getting dimmer as the two get farther away from the room. _"*But we need talk while you walk. That fight wasn't normal at all. *"_

.

.

.

* * *

"Why?"

"Hmm," Jean hums as he looks up from his daughter's letter.

"Why are you still living here, in this house?" Harold ask his friend, having to wait until after the treatment to ask him this question. They are both sitting around one of the kitchen tables, the package of meat opened between them. Jean is now fully clothed, wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of dark pants. Harold had long since put the medical equipment away, having no other patients to treat in this particular quarantine zone and desiring to catch up with Jean.

"Why wouldn't I be living in my own home?" Jean firebacks, returning his attention to the letter in his gloved hands. "Heh, she writes that the Skovfolk that fled south are assimilating well with the local Bergleute and Tech-Leute populations. Only been a few fights."

Harold frowns at his friend.

"Don't dodge the question, Jean. Why are you still living in the ruins of your home? The ruins of your neighborhood?" Harold presses. "This isn't the only quarantine zone in the city. The town council can't be cruel enough to keep you here."

"They aren't," Jean replies, not looking up. "I'm here of my own choice… Oh… apparently, there's a mysterious mountain growing near where my daughter lives… I hope it doesn't bring danger…"

"…Jean," Harold begins softly, "Why are you punishing yourself with the memories here? It wasn't your fault-"

"You think I don't know that," Jean snaps, his voice finally showing some emotion. "You think I don't realize it was the fault of distance, betrayal, and numbers. I do. On an intellectual scale, I do."

"But the father me, the remaining emotions in me… we can't accept that." Jean stands up, dropping the letter on the table. "I should've moved faster, fought harder, KILL quicker." He begins pacing around the kitchen, gesticulating with his hands. "Then maybe I would've been here to stop those MONSTERS from…" He stops. He just stops and stares into nothing.

"But I wasn't… I wasn't… And now they are all dead. We killed every last one of those FUCKING MONSTERS." He begins moving again. "And what do we have to show for it? Ruin, destruction, and starvation. Oh and let's not forget…" He removes one of the gloves, showing Harold the corrupted hand. "The corruption. A final fuck you from the monsters to ensure they will come back."

"Oh great bureaucracy in the sky," Harold gasp, as he frantically reaches for his medical bag.

"Don't bother, Harold," Jean says, slipping the glove back on. "They aren't listening and even with that special oil, you'd have to burn it all the way down to the bone, and that isn't even counting the corrupted areas deep in my body."

"Does the city council-"

"Yes… You know sometimes I can't tell who's being punished more for their past sins… is it me or everyone around me. Who is being hurt worse?"

"Oh, don't think like that Jean," Harold says.

"Why shouldn't I?" Jean asks. "In case it slipped your mind, this isn't Heaven, Paradise, Nirvana, insert your choice of a decent afterlife here. This is Purgatory! Sure, were on the good half of Purgatory, but this is the lowest level of the good half."

"Hey! It's not that bad here…" Harold argues, then remembers where they are. "Um, current circumstances notwithstanding. I mean it's mostly alright. We couldn't have done too many terrible things while we were alive?"

"You say that because you can't remember anything."

"And I don't want to. Remembering means gaining an Aspect, and I'd rather not deal with that."

"Yeah, well I remember plenty." Jean sighs, anger burning out into apathy. "Not all of it of course, but enough to know that this isn't a place for good souls… only barely reformed ones. Hell, I remember enough to understand why I'm labeled a 'fast verdanmt'… a 'nearly damned one'. Always one infraction from being cast out. Destined to bring misery to those I live amongst. At the beck and call of those higher beings for their dirty work… well at least once every ten years."

"…Ok, Jean… you're starting to sound angsty and accusing the higher powers of being incompetent," Harold warns. "Don't make me slap you."

"Relax, relax… I got most of the ranting out of my system." Jean placates his friend as he moves back to his seat. "Now let's sit down, enjoy this meat my daughter sent along, and I'm going to finish reading her letter."

As they sit down, Jean can't help but get in one last shot.

"And I'm not accusing anyone. The current state of our existence proves their incompetence."

No sooner had those words left his mouth, Jean felt a painful, familiar tug in his chest.

"…Oh no… It hasn't even been ten years yet…"Jean whispers, before falling face first onto the table.

"Jean… JEAN!" Harold yells, rushing towards his unresponsive friend.

* * *

"…fights will be that different," Frisk says to Chara as the exit out of the long hallway into the final chamber before the exit. "The fights with the Froggits and Whimsuns were normal."

 _"_ _* Well yes, but…*"_ Chara halts in mid-sentence, transparent eyes widening.

"Chara?" Frisk asks in a concerned voice. Not getting any reaction, they follow her line of sight and let out a gasp.

The door leading out the rest of the Underground has been sealed shut by vines and thorny bramble. In fact, half of the chamber is covered in the foliage. And sitting at the center of the chamber is a small yellow flower, with a silly little face, and a malicious glint in its eyes.

"Hello, _CHARA."_


End file.
